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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24714460">When it rains</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercolour/pseuds/silvercolour'>silvercolour</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cuddles, M/M, Post-Canon, Rainy day cuddles, Slight hurt/ lots of comfort, This just in: snakes hate cold weather</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:34:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24714460</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercolour/pseuds/silvercolour</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the weather is awful, and snakes do not like the cold.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Verb Roulette</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>When it rains</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was written for the Good Omens verb roulette; my verb was “stumble”!<br/>Also written for PyraCanthea because they asked me to write rainy day cuddling after I wrote <a href="%E2%80%9C"> this very sad apocalypse fic </a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It creeps up on them, sneakily and casually, an intimacy they have fought for six thousand years to hide and repress. And intimacy they now no longer need to hide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s hard to know someone for that long a time and not learn all their habits- the way they walk, the way they take their tea, the way they slouch into a chair to relax. And the way Crowley will stumble into his bookshop on days like today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today is an exceptionally stormy day. It had started out with winds strong enough to shake the shopfront shutters, and had progressed into the torrential rains that drive people to shelter in any shop that will open its doors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale was half-and-half expecting Crowley to call to cancel their afternoon appointment. The other half of that expectation was a short and miraculous break in the clouds- a break of approximately the amount of time it might take a demon to walk from his car to a bookshop door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead the shop door opens and is slammed against the wall behind it as a particularly strong gust of rain and wind blasts Crowley inside his shop. The demon is soaked to his skin, and though he’d never want to hear it Aziraphale cannot help but think of a cat he once saw fall into a river. It had the same indignance as Crowley now carries in the set of his spine- the same anger at the sheer </span>
  <em>
    <span>injustice</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he should get rained on at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley stands there for a moment, lost and looking around himself like he’s never been in the shop before. When he speaks Aziraphale can hear his teeth chattering from the cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A little help, Angel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, my dear,” Aziraphale shakes himself. With a wave of his hand the shop door closes and locks itself, the sign on it flipping to ‘Closed’. A second wave and both Crowley and the puddle of water collecting below his boots are dried. The sound of chattering teeth doesn’t stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley dear, why would you subject yourself to this awful weather? You know you’re bad at coping with the cold.” Aziraphale says gently. It is not meant as an accusation, but from the way he shuffles his boots Crowley seems to think it is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, Angel- I jus’...” Crowley’s explanation trails off into a shiver before it even begins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale wraps an arm around almost-too-skinny shoulders and gently leads Crowley to the upstairs apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s quite alright dearest, I’m glad you made it here safely. It’s only that I worry about you- I worry you’ll hurt yourself for no reason.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley shakes himself loose from Aziraphale’s grip, only to fall backwards into an armchair that moves closer to catch him. Aziraphale kneels down in front of him to take off his boots. From his round eyes and faint “ngk” sound that escapes him, Aziraphale surmises that the demon does not know what to do with this situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gently releases Crowley’s feet from the tight leather boots and sets them aside. Still seated in front of Crowley, he continues: “I know you do not want me to worry, my brightest, but I do-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-didn’t mean to worry you,” Crowley interrupts him. He is very carefully not looking Aziraphale in the eye as the angel sits below him on the floor. Instead, he curls his legs up underneath himself. “But we had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>date</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> show up to see you, Angel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale feels his heart melt all over again and he surges up to wrap his arms fully around Crowley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley goes stiff in his arms for a moment, and then almost softens, and almost melts into Aziraphale’s arms, and his warmth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Six thousand years of looking over one's shoulder do not go away in a day, even if the Antichrist makes it so they no longer need to. They are still wary of touching each other, and being close, even though they always see what the other wants, and needs, as clear as a cloudless sunrise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley allows himself a moment to relax into Aziraphale’s arms. Six thousand year he’s wanted to do this, wanted the freedom, and the permission to do this. He can barely believe he has it now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a long time- too short a time- he leans back, but keeps a hold of Aziraphale’s soft shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t be comfortable sitting there, Angel,” he says as he fights to suppress a shiver at the loss of warmth- of Aziraphale’s warmth. Because his angel is as bright as the sun, and seems to burn hotter than any star (but perhaps Crowley is biased in that regard).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shiver must have been more noticeable than he thought, for Aziraphale frowns. It’s the same adorable little frown he always has- a frown that says he can’t disagree but he wants to do so anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The frown disappears, and is replaced with an angelic smile as Aziraphale rises from the floor. Crowley tries not to shiver again at the complete loss of contact, and fights even harder not to show the momentary sadness the loss causes him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale steps to the other armchair, and picks up two blankets (had there been two blankets there before? Crowley isn’t sure at all). He turns back to Crowley with a twinkle in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could you move over a little, dearest?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley sputters, about to demand where exactly he’s supposed to move in an armchair when he </span>
  <em>
    <span>looks</span>
  </em>
  <span>- and sees the armchair has extended into a cozy two-person couch, complete with matching throw pillows. Obligingly, he moves away from the side he was occupying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale folds himself into the couch-that-used-to-be-chair, and gently pulls Crowley against himself, gauging his reaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s reaction is clear to read across his face, and goes as follows: surprise- shock- blush- acceptance- more blushes- a soft closing of eyes like a happy cat. He then twines his arms around Aziraphale soaking in warmth and closeness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale, now thoroughly stuck on the couch, gestures for the blankets to cover Crowley. He threads his fingers through the demon’s hair, und whispers: “I’m glad you did come and visit today, my love.”</span>
</p>
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